A self-appointed bug in childhood, this woman now finds many a thing to have a beef with.
Really, though, it's the only alliterative title that I could live with at the time of blog conception. LoonieLizzie was too self deprecating; EccentricElizabeth had too many syllables.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

I'm thinking of writing more frequently. I don't want to make any promises, but I feel myself drawn to the keyboard more often these days.

A sudden influx of blog topics fill my brain last week. So I grabbed a pen and started jotting them down before they flitted away. N saw the list later and said, "Who wrote on my masterpiece?"

Doh! That Mom-fail actually made me wince. Clearly, I will not be writing about "How to Nurture Your Budding Artist" or "Top Tips for Preserving Children's Art."

Truth be told, I will not begin writing about the sunshine and roses in any aspect of my life. I won't detail my great moments in an effort to serve as "inspiration." I'm choosing the path of reality not because of my vast integrity, but because if I didn't, my posts would be one sentence long. For example, today's positive message would be: Dear Internet, I brushed my teeth this morning.

I'll stick with my standard honest accounts of being a ding dong who cares about a few important things. As filler, I will likely tell on myself. Which is why I'm not fully committing to this writing-thing quite yet.

This evening I dashed to the library to check out stupid diet books. I reasoned that my wise diet hasn't been working, so I need to try something different. I found a new stupid diet so quickly that I needed to kill more time before returning to the screaming tribe of children. So I went for ice cream.

True story.

I turned the top book over so the guy at the window wouldn't see the subject matter as he handed me a giant cup of frozen sugar/fat. As I ate the sundae my stupid diet declared, "You've got to stop eating unhealthy crap."

I'm already thinking this stupid diet may be one of my dumber ideas. Right behind deciding to publish my antics on this blog.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

My dad is a biker. I've spent many an hour on the back of a motorcycle, weaving between cars and soybean fields. Whenever we pass another motorcycle my dad's left hand drops from the handlebar in greeting. So does the other biker's. It's cool. It's community, without saying a word.

I remember my former stepmom telling me the story of when she dated an older guy when she was in high school. She was busted when her dad shook hands with the guy. Apparently, they were both Masons, and they have a secret handshake.

I escape my house for short solo errands with increasing regularity these days. When I'm out on my own, it isn't obvious that I'm a mom to a child with special needs. When I see other people from the disability community I want to say "Hello there, keep up the good work!" without being a complete weirdo and actually saying it. And frankly, sometimes when I'm by myself, I don't feel much like talking. Between raising one extreme extrovert and two other children learning how to talk, I'm tired of chatting. We need a secret handshake.

When I'm feeling particularly brave I decide to go out with my kids. (Besides therapy, that doesn't really count) It's usually the grocery store. And only if we're all having a good day. I try to truck it through the store to keep it a good day. I don't have time to visit. When dashing the aisles with my cart of kids and calories, it would be nice to have a way to acknowledge our community, without stopping to say a word.

My son's disability isn't always visible. If he's happy and wearing pants, most people would never guess his diagnoses. If he's screaming, grabbing his ears and showing off his MFOs/AFOs, our reality is a bit more obvious. On the invisible days I need that secret handshake to let others know I'm in the club, too.

Only it can't be a handshake.

Our hands are already full. And our feet are usually moving at a rapid clip. I'm thinking we need a wink, and pointy finger-thing. Sorta like the Fonz. But no thumbs up, because we're inspired by him, not replicating him. We won't say, "hey" or click our mouths when we do the wink. That's a bit too much.

I can already hear one sister's eyes rolling while the other one calls me a dork. So I'm open to suggestions. But, really, we need a secret handshake.